Games That Don't Grow Old
by controlled climb
Summary: She loved to play this game. As a member of the elite society, she found it fun - really fun. * Happy birthday, Persephone's Flower.


For Persephone's Flower, as a late birthday present.

* * *

Another elaborate party, another night of hell, and yet another time when Draco could think of a million other places he would rather be. Yet there was no escaping this nightmare. Forced laughter rang in his ears as his cold eyes scanned the room. Expensive shawls were draped over armchairs as the ladies sipped at their wine and pursed their ruby lips when one would say something oh-so _scandalous_.

Draco stood in the corner of the room, glowering as Pansy Parkinson made small talk with him. Biting back a scathing remark that would have shut her up in mere seconds, he reminded himself that his mother would have his head dare he make a scene. So he stood silently, praying that someone would rescue him from this nightmare soon.

"… and did you _see_ the look on her face, Draco? It was brilliant," Pansy cackled, reminiscing their schooldays.

He nodded curtly, uninterested. The two of them hadn't met up after the battle, and had very little to catch-up on. Needless to say, her company wasn't exactly welcome.

"I better go welcome the other guests," he interrupted her midsentence and left immediately, leaving her pouting unattractively and alone.

He wandered mindlessly around the room, occasionally nodding his head in greeting at a few select people. He recognized most of them from his schooldays, and truth be told, he wouldn't have minded talking to a good a few of them. But the idea of sauntering up to someone like say, Gregory Goyle and pretending that nothing had changed those past few years… well, it didn't appeal to him.

He was considering leaving, wondering whether his mother's wrath would be worth it, when he felt himself come to an abrupt stop, accented with a screech and glass shattering.

"What is your problem?" Astoria Greengrass snapped, dapping her stained dress furiously. "Are you blind, Malfoy?"

Not bothering to reply, he cast a spell over the broken shards of glass, letting them repair themselves. He moved his wand to her abdomen, prepared to clean her dress too, when she slapped it away furiously.

"Fine, your choice," he muttered, pocketing his wand and glaring at her.

Draco remembered her well from Hogwarts. She was the dirty blonde that always made a spectacle of herself. Daphne's little sister, if he remembered correctly. He had never talked much with her, and Daphne never talked about her. When she did, she wasn't saying anything decent.

"I can do it myself, actually," she sniped back. "I happen to be a perfectly capable woman."

Clamping his mouth shut, he nodded, no longer wondering why Daphne had been so harsh when describing her sister those years ago. Though, she did remind him a little bit of his younger self, back when he chose how he acted and didn't have a script thrust upon him.

"Would like another drink, Miss Greengrass?" he asked, a fake sincerity in his tone as he caught sight of his mother lurking nearby. "I'm very sorry about our… uh, mishap."

"Mishap, huh?" Astoria replied, smirking. She followed his line of sight, waving politely to Narcissa before turning back to Draco, a malevolent glint in her eyes. Trailing her polished nails up his arm, she leaned in, whispering, "I'd love one, _darling_."

As he turned away, her claws retracting from his skin, Astoria sat down and rapt her fingers against the glass table. It wasn't long before Narcissa sauntered up to her, a smile on her face.

"You and my Draco, then?" Narcissa asked.

Astoria looked up at the older woman, gazing thoughtfully at her before lying smoothly, "I enjoy his company. And he does mine, I assume."

She liked this game. It was one she was comfortable with. It was one she never lost. Even at school it had been fun, and the only way she managed to set herself apart from her wonderful sister. Now, as an adult in the "elite society" it was merely a pass time. A fun one, though. A very fun one.

"Oh, I'm sure he does," Narcissa gushed. "He'll take wonderful care of you, dear. He picked well, too! Such a pretty picture, you are."

"Thank you," Astoria murmured, casting her eyes downwards and letting a blush that had taken years to perfect grace her cheeks. "I'm afraid I ought to leave, actually. Lovely chatting to you, ma'am."

She left quickly, only sparing a moment to wink at Draco, who was now making his way towards her, two glasses in hand. He looked oddly at her, his face a human question mark. When she shook her head and disappeared with a pop, his confusion only increased.

Whoever Astoria Greengrass was, he was quite certain that by the look on his mother's face, she would be the death of him.

"Draco, you did a wonderful job picking Astoria Greengrass, of all people. I didn't realize you had such taste!"

Yes. It would a slow, excruciatingly painful death.


End file.
